Donna's Back
by DoctorDonna
Summary: Donna Noble discovers that there are side effects to having a Time Lord mind. And if the Doctor thought he was the only Oncoming Storm, he's got another thing coming. Picks up not long after 4x13 Journey's End.
1. Chapter 1

He's doing some routine maintenance work on the TARDIS; a plug here, a wire there. It's parked in London. Exactly where, he doesn't know, thanks to the randomiser acceleration that he's trying to fix. Things are gripped between his teeth, hair's all on end.

The doorbell rings.

"Wait a bit," he mutters, deep in frenzied concentration.

It rings again, more insistently. When he doesn't do anything it begins to buzz away as if someone is holding the button down.

That's when it occurs to him that there's no doorbell on the TARDIS.

He leaps up - all gangly arms and legs - and yanks the viewfinder screen around.

It's Donna Noble standing at the door. Donna Noble has her arms folded, and one foot is tapping, and her eyes are squinted, and if he didn't already know that she has red hair he could have sworn there's smoke coming out of her ears.

He's confused to see her, and ecstatic, and … blast it that ringing really isn't going away. The nerve of it, she's psychic doorbelling him. Time Lord mind still there then, and memories somehow all back – and he doesn't even want to muse on the implications of that. Clearly she has no idea of stopping the ringing until there's an answer.

"Just so you know," she calls, "I am NOT stopping the ringing until I get an answer, Spaceman."

The Doctor reluctantly drags one sneakered foot after another to the door. He unlocks it.

She obviously hears the lock click because she slams her palms together in a clap and the doors fly open, catching him off guard (and on the chin, which hurts - a lot).

"YOU!" she says, striding in. The Doctor actually runs backwards, jumps up on the TARDIS console and scrambles his way over various buttons and levers to the other side of the control room.

"Donna – now, don't do anything rash," he says in his desperate fox-caught-in-the-headlights voice. She isn't stopping. She might really kill him dead this time. And judging by the look of her she'll wait and kill off each new regeneration too.

There's only one thing he can do.

"Giant wasp behind you!" he shouts.

She gasps and turns, and as she does he takes off down the corridor, arms pumping like an Olympic sprinter, shoelaces flying out behind him. Put space between them. That's right.

"COME BACK HERE, SPACEMAN!" he hears her bellow. It makes him run faster.

He practically hurls himself through the wardrobe door, thinking that there are any number of places to hide in here. Just climb into a clothing rack and wrap himself up in a coat or something. That's the ticket, she'll never find him. He hears her enter the room (curse her to Rassilon, she's like a bloodhound).

"You can run, Martian boy, but you can't … ooh, what's this?"

He hears the sounds of rustling and things being taken on and off clothing racks as she tries them on. He permits himself to roll his eyes. Some things never change.

But then he hears some sort of machinery grinding into gear, and all the racks of clothing start gliding around the helixed room. Just as the Doctor is wondering how he can slip out, it all grinds to a halt and there she is in front of him.

Except it's not Donna.

It's Rose.

He's completely lost for words. Really. His mouth is going open and shut like a goldfish but nothing is coming out.

"Rose?" he finally says in a voice about two octaves too high.

"You what?" she says, folding her arms and snaking her head to the side in a way that is so uncharacteristically Rose and so all Donna. "Oh bloody hell," she huffs, "don't tell me I'm doing it again."

She morphs, squidgily, into Donna. Donna with blonde hair. Now the Doctor is trying to remember just what those blue aliens he met in a bar last night on Raxacoricofallapatorius put into his drink. Was it some sort of hallucinogen?

"Oh, hang on," she says. "That's not quite right." She morphs into Sally Sparrow, filling out the blonde hair. Then back into ginger and Donna.

"Bingo. You've got a hell of a lot of people hanging around in this bleeding Time Lord memory bank of yours, haven't you? Haven't quite got the hang of this regenerating thing yet. Keeps happening at the weirdest times, I tell you."

"Donna …" breathes the Doctor, eyes terrified and glad and aghast all at once. "You're a …"

"Time Lady," says Donna, hands on her hips. "Yeah. I was wondering when that was going to come up. You know when it came up for me?" (She sounds dangerous. Best not answer. Take it as a rhetorical question.) "It came up when my mum noticed Kylie Minogue – oh, ME then, you dunderhead – standing in our kitchen. I mean, what would Kylie bleeding Minogue be doing in our kitchen?"

"But … it can't be," says the Doctor, running a hand wildly through his hair.

She ignores him. "God, Time Ladies aren't half vain, regenerating all the time. I've got a zit! Regenerate. My boobs aren't big enough! Regenerate." She regenerates into Romana II and back into Donna again, to prove her point. "You Time boys have it easy. Die, regenerate. Die, regenerate."

He hopes that doesn't mean she intends to make him die, and when she doesn't, he moves forward with his hands outstretched to count her two heartbeats. He needs to know; to make sure this isn't some dream.

A cracking slap snaps his head to one side. Not a dream.

"Oi!" growls Donna. "Stop feeling me up."

"So," says the Doctor, trying to get this straight, "your suppressed Time Lord mind tried to let you know about your … Timeness by growing your body an extra heart." He nurses his jaw.

"Yup," says Donna.

"Bringing all the memories back because now they won't kill you. Time Lord mind in a Time Lord body."

"Yup."

"And now you're here."

"Yup."

There's a pause while they eye each other off.

Then …

"Make up sex?" suggests Donna, and she pulls him flush against her and snogs the living daylights out of him, tongues dueling wildly.

When he pulls back, his hair is even more rumpled and he has lipstick on the side of his mouth.

"Donna," he squeaks, ears turning very red, "what in Rassilon are you doing? We've never had sex. Never. Not ever. Never ever."

"Don't be thick," she says. "Because I can remember a hell of a lot of times when we …"

She stops. Her eyes narrow dangerously. He gulps.

"Are these your memories in my brain? You've been dreaming of me … us … like that?"

He knows there's no answer to that one that'll get him out of here alive, so he leaps out of the clothing rack and tries to take off again but somehow he trips over an enormous feathered Gallifreyan headdress that Donna has tried on and tossed down. He slams to the floor. Instantly Donna pounces on top of him.

"You know what … Spaceman?" She curls the word around her tongue, relishing it. He stares up into her eyes. Her ginger mane is spilling all over him. He's terrified. He is so dead.

She lowers her lips to his ear and blows on it. Then she whispers.

"So have I."


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor wriggles out from Donna's nail-polished grip and crab-scuttles backwards, putting as much distance between them as possible. It's not a lot of distance, but at least there's a row of brightly coloured scarves hanging in front of him. He could always strangle himself (if it weren't for that damn respiratory bypass system).

"Come on, get over here," says Donna with a long-suffering sigh. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before or anything."

"_When_?" he squeaks.

"When you decided to go and grow an extra body, bang in front of me, you kamikaze worm. Don't look so shocked. I saw all your bits. There's nothing to be ashamed about. You have nice bits."

"Don-nnna," pleads the Doctor.

"Stop arguing and take off your pants and let's go have sex. Where's that bean bag room you're always bragging about?"

"Donna, stop! Stoppit right there. You have Time Lady hormones flooding your body, brand new hormones. Hormones you've never felt before are pumping through your veins, combusting and exploding in your cells."

He's gabbling in his desperation, and she narrows her eyes at him.

"I know a hell of a lot more about female biology than you. Men – you're all the same, no matter what species."

"Good, keep thinking along those lines. Men. Specifically think human teenage male."

"You calling me a randy teenager?"

"No! No. What I mean is, all these new hormones are affecting you in new ways. Like … like sex. You've never wanted to _mate _with me, not before." He's very pink as he gets this out.

Donna ponders for a moment. "So, all these thoughts I'm having right now about the two of us being the last of the species and needing to propagate our race and make lots of Time babies."

"Yeah, those thoughts."

"It's kind of like Time Lady PMS."

"Basically, yeah."

She sniffles.

Oh no. She's going to go into a fit of the weeps. His eyes dart from side to side, looking for a way out. If he's completely honest with himself, he's more afraid of emotional females than Daleks. Did Romana have these mood swings? He tries to remember. He doesn't think so, but then again, she wasn't as … as exuberant as Donna.

Donna sniffles again. "What about that stuff I saw in your sex dreams … oh, the hell I'm not going to call them sex dreams, you cosmic playboy."

This is approaching a level way beyond embarrassing.

He swallows. "Actually Donna, they're really mostly_ your_ dreams."

"You what?"

"The hormones are making you mentally extrapolate on things that you've seen in my dreams." He turns red. "Like the one on the coral reefs of Kataa Flo Ko – and before you say anything, I can't help what I dream, you're got such nice …"

He tries to come up with the right word. _(Curves … no, bosoms … he'll get a slap for that, tracts of land … it's an off chance but she might have seen Monty Python, can't risk that …)_

"Teeth," he settles on.

"Teeth?"

"Yeah, nice teeth. They're all shiny and white …"

Her eyes are watery now.

"Look," he says urgently. "In that dream I was kissing you. _Kissing_, that's all."

"You were licking me all over in a Kataa Flo Koan orgy."

"Right now, there! That's your hormones talking."

She clicks. "Ohhhhhh."

It passes through his mind at this exact nanosecond that this is one conversation he definitely never wants repeated.

"Still …"

And on goes Donna.

" ... the sex would have been really good. You do have nice bits."

Oh Rassilon.

"Can we please stop talking about my bits?"

"After you regenerated from that gross hand thing you were really, really liking being in the nude."

His mouth falls open. "I was not!"

"Well excuuuuuse me, but you so were. What was with all the leaping around the console and twiddling levers (and believe me, bits were flying everywhere) before I told you to get some clothes on? And it's not like you wanted to put them on. I had to pull the T-shirt over your head."

"First of all, that was the other me, not me. And second, it was probably just temporal nervous system displacement. A fit of the shakes."

"I had to throw those ratty old sneakers at your head to knock you unconscious before I could get your pants on."

"It wasn't even me!" he protests again.

"You are the other you. Face it – you're an exhibitionist."

"The other me probably got it from _you_! He's half human now. Your half."

"Oh," says Donna thoughtfully. "That actually makes sense. The other you has my mind whizzing around in his head. That's weird."

"You don't say."

She considers the Doctor, her head cocked to one side, arms folded. "In that case you're incredibly repressed, you know that?"

"No I'm not! I can be a snag, an emo snaggerino. See, I know the lingo."

She smirks. "First of all, you don't. And second," she taps her head, "I so_ know_ you're repressed."

* * *

An hour later they've landed in Spatula Nebula 5 and they're lying naked on a purple nudist beach surrounded by aliens in all their alien naked glory. The Doctor takes a slurp of his iced blue smoked tentacle tea.

"Well?" asks Donna, tilting her 4D sunglasses a bit and turning her head towards him.

"All right, coming here wasn't a _completely_ awful idea," admits the Doctor.

"Told you. A bit of sun and skinny dipping was what you needed." She casts a lazy eye over his damp naked form. "You know, there's something on your back."

"What? Where?" He scrabbles at his back.

"It's just a mole, you twit. You might want to get it checked out."

He settles back down with a sigh.

"Donna, can I ask you a question?"

"Mm-hm."

"D'you still fancy me?"

"Nope." She takes a sip of tea. "Hormones worn off. You're back to a streak of alien nothing for another, er … hundred years or so."

"Just checking."

"And for goodness sake, cover yourself up with that towel."

"Yep."


End file.
